Fragile
by Othnieltcs
Summary: An Orc warrior and a Blood Elf mage make an unlikely team... and an even more unlikely couple.


Fragile

"RRRAAAARRRGGGHHH!"

The war cry seemed to have come from a throat many times larger than the one that actually loosed it. The effect was immediate: all three of the centaur took an involuntary step or two backward. One even flinched as though taking a blow.

The blow came soon enough. A mighty swing batted aside the intimidated creature's half-hearted attempt at a parry, the axe of its adversary slicing almost effortlessly into its side. The wound was not large, but immediately started gushing blood. The next swing opened up a large gash in the creature's chest. Clearly outmatched, the centaur turned to run. An expertly timed hack at the back of one of its legs caused it to stumble badly. One more blow, this one to the neck, and the creature lay motionless. The other two centaurs were in no mood to face such ferocity. In fact, they were already one hundred yards away.

The attacker only reached a little below the centaurs' chins in height, but was sturdily built even without the armor it wore. Relative newcomers to the land, the warrior's people had fit in to Durotar and the Barrens as if the places had been made for them.

Shargh's green skin was, of course, normal for an Orc. Less usual, though far from unique, was the purplish tint of the dark hair she brushed back from her face. But the blue eyes that watched the retreating centaur were downright exotic among Orcs. Her "gresks" - teeth that poked up from her lower jaw and across the upper lip like upside-down fangs - were much smaller than normal. She'd been teased mercilessly by other Orc women about their size quite often - gresks were about as endearing a feature to Orcs as dimples were to Humans.

She absently bandaged a nick on her forearm as she eyed a nearby outcropping of rock with suspicion. It would be just like the worthless centaur scum to try catching her with her guard down, after the others' cowardly retreat. She was going to teach them _exactly_ what happened when they dared to raid a caravan to Sen'jin village! She approached the outcropping slowly, smirking with grim satisfaction as her ears picked up a soft scrabbling coming from the hiding place. Pressing herself flat against the rock, she carefully studied the ground to make sure she would cast no shadow, then raised her axe and leapt around with a shout to face...

...A sleeping Human!

She lowered her axe, dumbfounded, as her mind scrambled to reassess the situation. No, not Human, she realized as the figure groaned softly and turned its head. Blood Elf. Quite pale, even by those frail people's standards. Instinctively she went to

her knees to give him a closer examination. There was a large wound in his side - not too serious, but clearly he had lost quite a bit of blood.

She straightened to examine the area. The Elf had managed to get himself out of sight at least, but the centaur camps were still far too close to leave him here. There was too great a chance he would be discovered. After hastily bandaging the wound as best she could, Shargh hoisted the wounded Elf over her shoulder. He was even lighter than he looked, which proved quite fortunate. It was hard enough to try hurrying without attracting attention from the centaurs.

More than once she was afraid she had jostled him too hard and the bandages had come undone, but when she put him down they were still in place and not even soaked through.

She replaced the bandages, this time taking care to properly clean the wound as well. The spot she had chosen on the beach was still not _completely_ safe, but she was confident she could take care of anything that might threaten him here, and she could always ask the old Troll fisherman in the nearby hut to send for help if it came to that. Sen'jin village was not far up the shore, but Shargh did not feel like carrying the fool Elf all the way _there_, even if he was as light as a child. There were far worse places to baby-sit a wounded comrade than on the beach, she reasoned.

Comrade...that was still a strange thought to her, as it surely was to most members of the Horde. The Blood Elves, before they had adopted that particular name for themselves, had been one of Humanity's staunchest supporters in the Second War. Of course, the history of conflict with the Elves was quite brief for the Orcs. The Elves had battled Trolls in many bloody conflicts ever since their ancestors had landed on the shores of Quel'Thalas, many millennia ago. Shargh knew many Trolls who would not even speak with any Blood Elf, even to this day.

When at last she was fairly sure he would sleep uninterrupted for a long time, she allowed herself a brief nap.

Loud jeers and shouts caused Shargh to bolt upright in her bed. It was happening again! She hurried to the door of her makeshift cabin and kneeled in front of it, her little eye pressing up to a knothole so she could see. Three Human armored guards surrounded a large Orc lying on the ground.

"Pathetic," one of the guards was saying. "How such creatures managed a siege of Lordaeron herself I will never know."

"Get up!" The second guard gave the Orc a kick that rolled him over, sprawling on his back. His lethargic face turned toward the cabin Shargh was watching from, and she choked back a sob as she gazed at the bleeding, drooling face of her father. Her eight-year-old mind told her that she did not want to watch this, not again. The rest of her agreed...and yet she could not force herself to look away.

The third guard kicked her father again, and his face turned back away from her. Tears streamed down the little Orc girl's face, and she trembled from the effort to keep silent so the guards would not hear her.

"What is this?!" The soft, smooth voice that broke in on the guards' laughter made the Human voices sound harsh by comparison. Shargh risked a shuffle of her knees to try to see the newcomer, but he was just out of sight.

"Ahhh, come down to dirty your pretty little ears, have you? Go on then, take your turn."

"I think not."

"Still afraid of the big, bad Orcs, eh? I guess I would be too if I was a donkey-

eared Fairy."

"There is no point to this. It is not resisting - it may even need medical attention."

"Awww, you want to kiss his boo-boos and make them go away? Come here, then."

"What...?" Shargh heard scuffling noises.

"That's it, give Orcy-poo a big fat kiss!"

"Har! Watch those big-arse teeth now!"

"There, now he's all better. You've done your duty, now let us get back to ours."

The newcomer's face finally crossed Shargh's field of vision. For just a moment, she caught sight of wispy blond hair, angular features and eyes so blue they nearly glowed. But the expression on that almost too-handsome face was one of rage and humiliation.

Shargh awoke, sitting up with a jerk - she was not one whom sleep left slowly. That _rotten_ dream about the Internment Camp again! The Elf was a new detail, though she was sure it was just another one of her many memories of such nights. She leaned back on her hands and looked casually around her, and nearly leaped to her feet when she found a face staring at her only a few feet away. The Elf's face was not quite the one from her nightmare, but it was close enough that they might have been related. Then again all Blood Elves looked the same to her. The face's bemused smirk broke into generous laughter, and she grimaced and looked away.

"Feeling better, I see," she growled.

The Elf's laughter died down. "Much better, thank you. I assume you were the one who rescued me from that...hole?" She gave a sharp nod, still looking away. "Then I very likely owe you my life..." He hesitated then, not for a lack of words, but rather because he had been momentarily taken aback as she had suddenly turned to face him and grinned. An Orc's grin, though as friendly in intent as any other creature's grin, is a fearsome thing to those not accustomed to it. With green lips pulling back from jagged teeth and exposing those _sexy_ gresks in all their glory, even Tauren had been known to blink uneasily at their first encounter with such a sight. To the Elf's credit, however, he did not let it interrupt him for more than a moment or two. "It was rather careless of me, I admit, to get into such state. But where are my manners?" He managed to grin back at Shargh, something which seemed to startle her. "My name is Sarthonen. And that of my lovely rescuer...?"

Shargh frowned. Politeness was not exactly absent in Orc society, but it _was_ generally reserved for those with extreme levels of authority, Warchief Thrall for instance, or for those with extreme levels of celebrity, such as the various Champions of the Horde that had risen through the ranks of soldiers over the years. Flattery for an Orc was a head-butt, or a gift of thick, juicy steak...mmmmmm. Flattery with words was something largely left to the devious, honorless Humans.

"Shargh," she replied curtly.

Sarthonen did not seem to notice her shift in mood. He sat there for quite a few minutes, watching the waves on the shore. "I must say, this is a very nice spot you chose, Shargh."

She grunted. "Safe, quiet," she agreed.

He turned back to her. "And beautiful! Honestly, I would not have expected to find such beauty in a place as harsh as Durotar."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Eh?"

"I mean the view, of course."

She managed to avoid his piercing green gaze by scratching the back of her neck. Then she gave a serious look out to sea herself, and admitted to herself that the Elf had a point. Blue shadows of trees in the distance, rising from a set of islands just off the coast, made the view dreamlike. The sight and sound of the waves hitting the shore was very relaxing. She even smiled a little as she gazed out to sea.

"Sarthonen," she said suddenly.

"Yes, my heroine?"

"What in the name of the Four Winds were you _doing_ in that canyon, anyway?"

The very air seemed to explode around the centaur patrolling the entrance to the canyon, disorienting it so much it was nearly knocked off its feet. Then Shargh came barreling in at a run, and it stumbled to its knees. A flash of flames and a merciless chop from Shargh's axe, and it was over.

With Sarthonen's magic acting as heavy artillery, Shargh became little more than a distraction for the centaur patrols as they traveled through the canyon in their search. The Elf was ready to admit that she was quite good at distracting. He fired off a burst of arcane energy to finish off the latest patrol, then ran to catch up with her. Did she _never_ tire? He felt as if he'd been running for days!

"It is close, now," he said once he was close enough to speak without shouting.

She stopped to look around, as if it would just be lying on the ground somewhere. "Are you sure?"

Sarthonen frowned. "I can feel it." The destruction of the Sunwell, for so long the center of the Blood Elves' society, had had many strange effects for the entire race, but none worse than the sensation of gnawing hunger for all things magical. They had learned to control it through various ways, including somehow absorbing the magical energies of other creatures, but those ways were little more than stopgaps to keep them from going completely insane. For Sarthonen, this curse proved to be a blessing in his search. "This way," he said, directing Shargh around a corner.

Almost immediately she was greeted with a bluish-white blast of lightning that flung her backward several feet.

"Nine forbidden spells of the Magisterium!" Sarthonen swore. Shargh had already rolled over and lifted herself to hands and knees - these Orcs were even tougher than they looked. Sarthonen turned the corner to absorb some of the creature's magical energies and fire a magical bolt made of ice at it.

It was quite large, even for a centaur. It was clear to them that this must be one of their clan leaders, or "Kahn"s. This was hardly a surprise - what Sarthonen was seeking would not have been left in the hands of underlings. Still, he had been hoping they would not be quite so _ready_ for their attack. Quickly he sent a series of magical missiles at it. The Kahn charged at him with a furious shout, knocking him nearly senseless with its huge shield. But Shargh was back on her feet, and came whirling back at it with a devastating attack. The Kahn managed to get its shield up just in time, but her blow cleaved it nearly in half. Then she brought her own shield up as it sent its heavy mace crashing down on her, crushing her flat on her back.

Sarthonen conjured a ball made of fire and hurled it at the centaur's chest, where it exploded. Roaring with pain, it swept its mace back around and smashed Sarth into the rock wall. Sarthonen slumped to the ground, momentarily stunned.

Shargh was again back on her feet as the enraged Kahn reared back on its hind legs, ready to crush the Elf's head with its hooves. She threw aside her dented shield and gripped her axe with both hands for a savage slice into the centaur's leg, nearly severing it.

The Kahn stumbled as it tried to turn toward her, and her follow-up swing went straight into the creature's face, splattering blood all over her. The huge centaur fell at Shargh's feet and she lifted her axe over her head, letting out a bestial roar. Sarthonen smiled - never had an Orc's primitive savagery looked so good. Still celebrating, she went over to him and gave him a rough shove back into the canyon wall. He glanced down at the bloody smear she left on his robe and chuckled, even going so far as to shove her back. This pleased her so much that she grabbed him in a giant bearhug and lifted him off the ground.

Finally they paused in the victory celebration long enough to realize that the ground was shaking. They had just enough time to rush to the narrow entrance and set their feet before about a score of centaur were upon them.

Now Sarthonen had little time for spells, other than an occasional brief burst of flame. But Shargh found herself admiring, out of the corner of her eye, the deadly grace and skill of his whirling staff. Time and again it seemed they would be overwhelmed, even in the choke-point they defended, only for his staff to deliver stunning blows to two or even three centaur at once, allowing Shargh's axe to make short work of them. After what seemed an endless parade of thundering hooves which actually lasted only a few minutes, once again the two of them were the only ones left standing.

They watched each other recover, chests heaving as they gasped for breath; Sarthonen's slim but strong, Shargh's large and powerful. Finally Sarthonen turned back to the Kahn's tent, searching it until he picked up a magical orb, glowing bluish-white. Shargh wondered if she was imagining a faint hum emanating from the orb. So this is what he had traveled all the way from Silvermoon to retrieve. Apparently a thief had sold it to a goblin, from whom a troll had bought it, who in turn was killed in an attack on Sen'jin Village by these centaur. She would have to get him to tell her more of Silvermoon City.

"Now," Sarthonen said, turning to her with a sly grin, "perhaps we can leave this place without any more ruckus. Hey?"

Shargh chuckled - a snuffling, grunting sound that somehow managed to convey good spirits. "Ruckus can wait until later," she agreed.

Sarthonen smiled to himself as he noticed a certain gleam in the female's eye. Apparently "ruckus" would not wait until _too_ much later.

Shargh opened her eyes to a bright, moonlit night sky over the beach after a perfect, dreamless sleep. She smiled at the thought of how ironic it was, that she and other Orc women had always laughed to each other about the apparent fragility of male Humans and Blood Elves. Especially the Elves; Humans were enough of a joke to them, but even the smallest of them never quite seemed to match the effeminate _frailty_ of the Blood Elves.

She had watched two Humans once, the woman trying to seduce the man, when she was much younger. Nothing she had seen in her life since then had ever made her more sick. Somewhere, though, Sarthonen must have heard that Orc women like to play rough. Just thinking of it made her feel warm and tingly all over again. As embarrassing as it might be to admit, she thought she might be falling in love. It was hardly the first time for her, but this somehow seemed different. She thought back to the charge of all those centaur in the canyon, and marveled at what a great team they had made.

She wondered what it would be like in Silvermoon. It sounded like a beautiful place, but it would probably annoy her before long. As long as he was there, though, it would be her favorite place in the world. Sarth would get a hero's welcome, and those ridiculous Blood Elf women would stare in jealousy as she marched into the city with him...

A sudden noise behind her made her grab her axe and jump to her feet. "Who is there?" Even with no clothes on she was menacing.

A soft voice coughed out of the darkness. "Er... It is just me, Shargh."

"Sarth!" She dropped her axe into the sand. Then she noticed, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, that he was fully dressed. "Where are you going?"

"Well, like I said... you know, the orb _does_ need to be back in Silvermoon."

"Oh! I thought we were not leaving until daybreak. It will only take me a few moments..."

"Well, Shargh, you see... er... that is..."

She spoke softly now, afraid her voice might betray her sudden bad feeling. "Yes?"

Sarthonen's words came out in a rush. "You would not like it there anyway, Shargh... you _know_ it is best that I go back alone."

Shargh was starting to regret having dropped her axe. "Alone? But you said..."

"Let us not make this harder than it already is, Shargh. We had a great time. I'll never forget you, honestly." He hesitated, as if about to say more, then simply turned and hurried off in the direction of Orgrimmar and the zeppelins that would take him back to Silvermoon.

Shargh stared after him, long after he had disappeared from sight. She wondered, with a sick feeling in her stomach, just how many times he had done something like this before. Finally she just sat down there in the sand and buried her face in her hands.

The End


End file.
